


Because I'm stupid

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Drama, Identity Issues, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Kinda, M/M, Melodrama, Non-Graphic Violence, Overuse of the word blood, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: Most of the time, hate was the emotion that came easiest to Jono whenever Katsuya was involved. It wasn’t his twin’s fault though, that despising him was as instinctual as breathing and loving him was almost an afterthought compared to his dislike.





	Because I'm stupid

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be updating Devotion but shhhhhh.... Just enjoy the ride and read!
> 
> Warnings: my strange sense of humor.

Jono hated looking at his reflection for as long as he was able to remember, and so, it was no wonder that he couldn’t bear to catch a glimpse of his miserable face staring back from the bottom of the glass placed before him.

Well, that might have been a bit of an exaggeration, the part about hating his reflection since birth, but it was true that he didn’t want to look at himself right now. No need to feed his dark mood any further by having to stare deeply into his soulless fucking face.

Sighing, Jono picked at the blood already crusted beneath his fingernails while eyes of the same tone watched his hands’ movements languidly. His knuckles throbbed, swollen skin from beating the soul out of the loser that tried to stir up shit with him for trying to hook up with his girl. The guy had it coming, thinking he could lay hands on him as if he was just some random poser. Besides, his bombshell girlfriend had been more than eager to leave that man’s sorry ass for someone who clearly was on a whole different league. Jono couldn’t help being as attractive as he was. Shame that his retaliation had cost him getting laid; the girl had run away the moment Jono became a _little bit too_ violent and wailed a _little bit too_ hard on her soon-to-be -ex.

His forehead met the wooden surface in front of him with a slam that was swallowed by the noises of an agitated Friday night in a bar. The couple conversing next to him stopped mid-rant to stare at him with equally alarmed expressions. He only had to narrow his eyes into thin slits to get them to scoot over further along the bar hurriedly, clearly wary of the strange man with freaky colored eyes, bloodied knuckles and  a very particular choice of wardrobe, leaving him to his usual antics.

If Katsuya had been there with him, he would have been several new degrees of mad at Jono, ranting at him like a washed out high school counselor who had seen way too many kids walk in and out of his office completely unchanged to actually believe a word of the bullshit he repeated every single day. Ironic, seeing as fourteen year old Katsuya would have rather stabbed his own person with a spoon than give speeches as cheesy and moronic as the ones he gifted freely nowadays, ten years later, as if he was a much cheaper and lamer version of a Robin Williams’ character - which was why Jono was glad Katsuya wasn’t there to begin with.

Out of the two, Jono was the one who had been born with a meaner taste for violence, the one who had a more complicated relationship with it. He was the one who ultimately had a hard time killing the old habits, the ingrained instinct taught in the streets. Sometimes he had enough wit to compare himself to a ‘recovering’ drug addict struggling to stay out of the same old business. Katsuya had been in a bad state too, once upon a time, but never as bad as to be able to measure to Jono’s exploits.

 After all, Katsuya _had_ gotten better thanks to the band of merry nerds he befriended in high school.

And Jono? Jono came to seedy bars like the one he was currently in and drank his weight in alcohol in order to forget what could not be forgotten otherwise. Every glass was a dose of much needed oblivion.  Every sip helped to erase a part of his self.  Another memory blown to the wind, another tie to the present blown to pieces. The beer was both acid on his tongue and a balm for his insomnia.

He took his cell phone out of his left pocket. He vaguely remembered turning it off the moment he saw the date on the calendar that morning. He usually didn’t keep track of time, much less dates, but today- oh, today was a day to recall and try to drain out of his system with more than a few beers ripping apart his good sense of judgment.

 _A test of strength,_ he thought, and before he chickened out, his index finger pressed the ‘on’ button. At worst, he expected to have a couple of missed calls from the Scooby Gang, his brother included, just to rub salt in the proverbial wound (as unintentional as the salt rubbing was), a few texts from jilted ex-girlfriends and random hook-ups that he would not answer in this lifetime,  and maybe some harmless death threats laying around.

The first sign that something was severely out of place was the notice popping up immediately, showing he had 30 messages and close to 50 missed calls, all from Mokuba. There were none from his brother or the dork crew. That was… unusual.

Where was the unintended bath of salt over his proverbial wound by his arsehole younger brother? Where was the fucking invitation to do stupid things that made him want to swallow a knife? Where were the Shrimp’s annoyingly friendly messages? Where were the condescending friendship ones from Anzu? Where was the spam from Hiroto and the daily list of phone numbers from girls that Ryuuji discarded/didn’t want?

The kid, efficient as he was, only called or texted him once if he had something of actual substance to inform Jono about, and if he had to relay a delicate or urgent matter, which rarely happened, he would do so three times. The fact that Mokuba had literally tried to seek him out to the point of insanity left him reeling in spite of his drunken state, staring wide eyed at the screen. To add even more shock, as he scrolled down his inbox, he found out he had also received four texts from Shizuka.

Automatically, because his love for his sister was one of the few redeeming qualities he possessed, he started reading hers first.

  * “Hello, nii-san! How have you been lately? It might just be a stupid question but still… I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be stopping by in a couple of days. I know how lonely you get around this time of the year, so maybe we can catch up or something. Talk about **you know what** , if you feel like it. And if you don’t want to do it and want to spend just some quality time with your favorite sibling instead, you know I won’t push. Ok, that’s all, tons of love and see you soon :3



XOXO Shizuka.”

He couldn’t even muster a glimmer of happiness at her words, for what she wrote after flushed all color from his body, stole the warmth the alcohol had brought him. He was sweaty and cold, and the combination of disgustingly opposing sensations left him even more distraught than before.

  * “Did you hear the news?”
  * “Nii-san, please answer!”
  * _“_ Don’t do anything reckless, Nii-san. Wait for the situation to calm down.”



Her last message. He froze, sobering up faster than he ever had, feeling sweat build near his hairline, a coldness travel down his spine. That was when it hit him that _Mokuba Kaiba_ had called him _50 times_ in a row _and he hadn’t answered, hadn’t cared enough to turn his cell phone on and what if-_ _Something might have happened to_ -

His heart climbed to his throat, pushing against the tensing, constricting walls, burning, and he wanted to spit it out, but didn’t know how, and he choked on his saliva, felt his eyes well up, his mouth opening in a desperate effort to drink from the air around him. _Oh God, anything but what he was thinking, what he imagined it was, anything but that. Not **him** , _he chanted in his head _, not **him** , **never him**. Me, always me, but not **Him**._

Jono’s thumb traced the black letters on his phone screen over and over again, until the pad of his finger felt numb, and willed himself to gain back focus. If it was an emergency he wouldn’t be of any use behaving like a lunatic. Still, his body was begging to crumble; he saw the cracks begin to appear, tiny, thin lines against his tanned skin. His free hand, the wounded one, acted like a wind bell, shaking this way and that, unwilling to react-he inhaled loudly, grip tightening, and decided to read Mokuba’s messages once and for all, lest he lost whatever rationality he had left.

A minute of hesitation was all it took for the universe to decide to fuck him up even further.

As he selected the first text, a voice coming from a table nearby said, “Oh, look, it’s on the news again! The fucking scandal of the day. I’m sick and tired of listening to the same bullshit all day long.”

“Yeah, as if seeing them on Duel Monsters’ related stuff wasn’t enough. Everything today has been about those two idiots.”

He lowered the cell phone and turned around, knots forming near his belly. They were not the pleasant kind of knots, either.

From his periphery, he caught sight of a group of girls directing speculative looks his way, then to the television screen on the wall to their left, and back to him again. They whispered among themselves, with worrisome sparks of recognition in their poorly concealed stares that made him vibrate with nervous energy. 

And simple as that, solely because of those too-loud comments, like a lit match being thrown to a tank of gasoline, the whole of the establishment was suddenly alive, buzzing with the newest public shit show that apparently everyone seemed to know about, except for Jono.

People started talking, and he listened to them, eavesdropping on conversations he wouldn’t have normally given a single shit about had it not been for their content, slowly filling in the blanks while rapid dread consumed him.

When he finally completed the puzzle belayed by the onslaught of messages on his phone, and he finally understood the cause for the urgency, his entire world, each and every one of his senses, narrowed to one color alone.

He flexed his digits, feeling nothing but the scabs of dried blood on his knuckles.

_Don’t do anything reckless._

He stood up from his seat, jaw hurting from tightly grit teeth. Heads turned at the impromptu sound of breaking glass. He paid no attention to the onlookers of his personal unraveling. Some residual shards clung to his palms, and he wiped them on the back of his skinny, ripped jeans; they fell to the floor where they joined the rest of the broken glass, making soft clinking noises.

His canines glinted under poor, yellow lighting as the typical “Oh my, is he…” and “Could he be…?” began floating in the stagnant atmosphere as he walked out, ignoring the outraged cries of the bartender behind him.

“Fuck ya’ll nosy bitches.”

 _Don’t do anything reckless,_ Shizuka had ordered him through text, from thousands of miles away. But he was already climbing onto his bike without having paid for any of his drinks or made up for the glass he shattered on purpose, and in a brief moment, he was swallowed into a starless night. His grief rode along with him.

No wonder Katsuya could not have been bothered to call him today.  What would have been the point? He knew where Jono would go.

(

_“Must be sad,” Katsuya said, snarling, his gums spilling red over white bone, “to be always so hateful. Don’t you ever get tired of being so miserable?”_

_Jono scoffed, wiping bloodied spit with the back of his hand. What a hypocrite. He might have been the one to throw the first punch, but his brother had started it. Fucking brat should have kept his mouth shut if he hadn’t wanted a skull pounding. “I don’t know, **Bonkotsu.** At least I’m not playing pretend all the time, trying to be what I am not. What I cannot be.”_

_He could see it clearly. The shit eating grin, the rambunctious laughter, the over the top friendly attitude, the complete stupidity of his optimism- foreign gestures and emotions  were reproduced by a shell that became his own only when he dared acknowledge what the mirror hanging on the wall knew too well._

_“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” The copycat growled as soon as he finished, elongating the sentence, and his face was shadowed by a mask that was very familiar to Jono. Oh, how he wished his stupid little friends were there to see their beloved ‘Jonouchi-kun’ show his true colors, “And I, for one, have never betrayed who I am. Unlike you, my whole life does not revolve around my fists, or making other people’s lives a living hell just to hide how truly empty I am inside. Unlike you, I don’t need to ruin everything I touch to feel better about myself!!!”_

_Jono’s nostrils flared, fingers curling on themselves once more. He pictured them closing around the younger Jonouchi’s throat, squeezing that mirror neck until it shattered in gory, jagged fragments._

_Breathing in, he curved his murderous streak into his words, “Oh boy, here we go again.” He laughed humorlessly. It was a bitter sound that even made Katsuya wince slightly for its coarseness. “I swear the only thing you seem to do nowadays is play the friendship card every time something doesn’t go how you’d want.  Well, let me tell you a thing or two about consistency, dear brother.”_

_He took a step forward, purposefully menacing. Was his brother aware of the way his shoulders hunched when Jono came near? Smirking, he continued, “You band of losers waste so much of your breath preaching about goodness, and niceness, and go on and on about how everyone should get along and hold hands and sing The Circle of Life or whatever, when you don’t actually do any of that yourselves. Like, in actual real life and not just in your fantasy land inside your air-filled heads?” He tilted his own, speaking deliberately slow. Mocking Katsuya. “So much for being consistent about your enlightening life ideals.”_

_“What? Of course we-“_

_“Wrong answer! Or don’t tell me you already forgot about what you pansies did this morning?”_

_Katsuya’s eyes clouded in confusion, before they widened like saucers in sudden understanding._

_“Wait,” he blinked unsurely, listing with his index fingers “you’re telling me you threw our bags in the pond, ripped apart our notebooks, and slashed our gym clothes… because of **that? Really?”**_

_A wave of resentment. Jono saw red. Tasted red on the tip of his tongue. He hated, **hated** how the living aberration was downplaying his own reproachable actions. That he failed to recognize them as such was much worse._

_“Are you kidding me?”_

_“Why?” Jono snarled, causing his lips to pull back to display rows of teeth. “Is it funny, treating **him** like **shit**?” He was losing it, his volume was rising more and more, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care with Katsuya looking at him in fear and in mockery, apparently wanting to run away as much as he wanted to laugh in Jono’s face, as if his feelings were a laughing matter, as if nothing that he said mattered-not when it came to **him**._

_“What, is he not a human being too?” He shouted. A vein in his neck tensed like a thick string. Katsuya swallowed, and yet, this time, in place of backing down in the face of his wrath, his expression hardened the more Jono spoke, “Shouldn’t he be counted as one of the poor, lost souls that you offer forgiveness to every other day of the week? Or is he so special that you need to get out of your way to make **his life a living hell** when he hid **nothing** to you, NOTHING TO YOU, you piece of-“_

_“Nothing to me? How dare you! How fucking dare you!” His brother yelled back at him, a dark emotion contained in his irises. “All he has ever done is hurt me, hurt us-“_

_“With good reason-And he didn’t even look at you, didn’t even spare a glance to you bastards and“_

_“You’re out of your goddamn mind! Do you even listen to yourself when you talk? There can’t ever be a good reason for any of the shit he has pulled, any of the lives he has messed with-Because he is no fucking saint! That he didn’t start shit with us today doesn’t mean a thing! He is a psychotic, murderous son of a bitch and so are-“_

_“That that back, **zako**. NOW.”_

**_Shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTSHUTUP_ **

_“Oh, does the truth hurt, aniki?” Katsuya fake pouted, laying a hand on his chest, near his heart.  Keeping the clown shtick even in a moment such as this one. “Just so you know, none of us have forgotten Death-T…”_

_“Trust me, neither have I.” The dirty blond said this with morbid satisfaction, reveling in how unsettled Katsuya seemed for a brief instance at his admission, unable to immediately rebuke him because of the vestiges of  much volatile and dangerous times rearing their heads in. Rendered speechless, Katsuya was silent for a beat._

_They stared at each other, lost in the memories of deadly games, sweat-stinking rooms, and **his** and Jono’s laughter echoing from every corner the losers tried to hide in. _

_Shaking his head, his younger brother panted, taking in gulps of air. “You two are lost causes.” He said, at last, ghosts dancing in his eyes. “A darned waste of time and space. I can’t begin to understand what Yugi sees in you, to think that you can be changed.”_

_Jono cackled; the sound came off as pleasant as the dying cries of a dog. “Joke’s on the little fool, then. Though if I were him, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s not like he really cares, anyway. He pretends to, just to keep his image of resident nerd, goody two shoes intact-“_

_The lighter blond cut him off, eyes bulging from anger and shouting at the top of his lungs. “You know, you two bastards talk a big game, trashing my friends, speaking about them as if you know everything there is to know, as if they are pathetic and below your oh so great standards. But guess what? You are the pathetic ones. Yugi ought to give up on you, like the rest of us have, because there isn’t anything good, anything worth anyone’s time, in either of you. You are worthless sacks of shit that prefer to hide behind hatred and resentment rather than face the truth and see how completely unwanted you are.”_

_Katsuya stopped to regain his breath. Jono said nothing, the void was calling and he couldn’t bring himself to retort._

_“And wanna know something else too?” The teen had a nasty tone adhered to his voice that warned Jono he would definitely not like whatever came out of his brother’s mouth next, “If anyone has ever deserved to be treated like the garbage they really are, that is **Seto Kaiba**. Someone should put an end to his fucking misery and finish him already.”_

_Jono moved so fast his mind wasn’t able to keep up with his body. The next thing he knew, his fist was embedded in the wall, centimeters away from Katsuya’s left cheek, and the pain spreading throughout his arm was second in command to his ire, forgotten in his rage. The void grew exponentially. Katsuya trembled like a little bitch, his face colorless as a sheet, pupils darting from his older brother’s face to the bleeding knuckles that would have crushed his eyes out of his head had they connected with their target._

_Fear was a good look on him._

_He grabbed that disgusting face with his free hand, sank his nails in for a better grip. “Don’t,” he whispered, shimmering crimson boring into frightened brown, “Just don’t.”_

_The smaller teen merely stared, mesmerized, as if he had never laid eyes on him and was seeing Jono for the first time in his life._

_“Do you understand?”_

_When the other didn’t answer, Jono held him by the throat and smashed him to the floorboard, where he took the chance to kick him twice in the ribs and stomach. He licked his lips smugly, enjoying the music made by feet meeting flesh. “Understand yet?”_

_His younger brother was too busy heaving to give him a response. Eyes watered, saliva and bile dangling from his mouth, legs curled, and his hands clawing at the floor- Katsuya finally looked as ugly as he was supposed to._

_Jono shrugged, hiding his hands in his pockets; his mind felt clearer and the void was receding. He began humming a tune, stepping over Katsuya’s torso as he headed for the entrance to the shithole they called home. “Next time I won’t miss, assface.” And he gazed pointedly at the crater on the wall in the shape of his fist, lingering on the cracks in the painting and the traces of blood left in its wake._

_Just as he was about to open the door, a voice from the ground demanded his attention._

_“Why?”_

_Just that. One word. One simple question charged with meanings Jono couldn’t be bothered to uncover._

_“You are the one with the name. You wouldn’t understand.” He said cryptically after a few minutes, his brother’s eyes drilling holes into his back._

_“By the way, I hope you have fun explaining that mess on the wall to the old man.”                         )_

By the time he arrived to the park, it was midnight. The area was vacant, no passerby’s could be seen anywhere near the gates or the immediate surroundings. Perfect circumstances for him, all in all. He climbed down from his bike, killing the engine. No guards made themselves known to receive him, which was a pretty telling clue that his instincts hadn’t failed him on this occasion either.

The sky carried no stars; he looked and looked, hoping to find a shimmering dot, but ended up getting absorbed by the omniscient darkness as he walked to his destination. The evening breeze whipped his mass of greasy hair away from his face and also cooled his humid skin, the patches of sweat covering his armpits, stole away the smell of alcohol that was so unbearably _Jounouchi_ it made him want to throw up five days worth of food.

Albeit the nausea brought upon the unpleasant train of thought faded the moment he saw the moon reflected on the surface of the lake situated at the park’s center.

And there he was, as expected-the long silhouette outlined by the bleak moonlight, knees and elbows deep in dirty water, the leather clinging to his thighs giving off sparks of silver just like the tresses of brown hair raining down in front of his obscured eyes. His white coat fanned out in the water, as dramatic as the tail of a wedding dress (the comparison left a sour word resting in the blond’s mouth).

 He was bent over, looking for something in the darkness.

 Jono felt his tears fall inwards, felt them burn the entire path down his larynx.

He approached the edge of the lake, his combat boots disturbing violently the silence reigning over the night. The figure paid him no heed, his hands moved frantically beneath the water. Maybe he knew already- there was only one person in the whole world that would come in search of a mad man, one guy crazy enough to follow him to this place in spite of the late hour.

( _“Anywhere,” it flew from him without his bidding, and panic overwhelmed him faster than the taste of salt and metal did when he bit his tongue._

_The other boy looked at him as if he had lost his sanity. Jono wished to take back what he just said but, in the end, he couldn’t do it. How could he, when the sun fell perfectly across the intense shape of the brunet’s naked stare?_

_He breathed through his mouth, repeating more fervently, “Anywhere.” Anywhere he wanted. Anywhere he desired._

_The blond didn’t look away. Not once.)_

It could have been poetic if it wasn’t so tragic in nature.

 “What are you doing in there, Ryuu-chan?” he called out softly, masking the emotions in his appraising gaze as Seto Kaiba eventually ceased his searching, and raised his head to acknowledge the new presence disrupting his one-track mission.

Jono felt the air inside his lungs stutter as his eyes were caught in honed cheekbones, carefully defined features, a straight long nose, naturally pouting lips that were chapped and bloodless because Seto refused to use any type of lip balm, in stark opposition to the haunted quality deeply set in those flawless features.

He smiled tentatively, shaking hands that might have betrayed him safely pocketed, and waited for the inevitable ‘Shut your trap, Legally Blond’ or ‘I thought I ordered you to stop calling me that dumb nickname!”. But none of that was shouted in heated tones nor whispered to shush him. The denials were not voiced, then. Seto remained motionless, like a breathing, living automaton, barely reacting, his chest expanding and retracting irregularly. He merely stared, stared so deep into him with a fathomless blankness the ex-gang member imagined his flesh and bone would melt if he continued. He imagined anyone else in his position would have run the other way by now.

Pale and disheveled and giving close to no signs of life, this man was Jono’s best friend.

He cleared his throat before trying again, “Hey, Setty. C’mon man, it’s freezing out here and I bet that water ain’t exactly boiling,” Jono extended one arm in Seto’s general direction “, so if you could please get outta there…”

Silence. Seto didn’t seem to hear him. His hand returned to his side.

“Okay, enough of this tough guy, you’re gonna get a cold if you don’t…” Jono trailed off, the concern in his voice dying as surprise overtook it, because right there, on Seto’s angular face, he saw the same cracks he had seen on himself in the bar commence to tear the smooth flesh of his face wide open. The moonlight hit his visage just as a twitch on his straight jaw initiated the first step in the defrosting process, shortly followed by wobbling lips, and a trembling chin, a desperation in his irises and shivering arms and wet hair; and the way his eyes opened like a dam, breaking, shattering, bleeding intensity as glints descended down reddening cheeks, destroyed Jono’s calm facade. His knees threatened to keel over, his organs begged to do the same.

(                       _Katsuya came to him, later. Once Jono’s fires had been put out, and they had eaten him, had killed the essence in him- that was when the coward came to see him._

_“Are you mad at me?” his brother asked with an emotion too close to guilt to be actually truthful._

_Jono glared him down from his position in the chaos that was his bedroom’s floor, covered in filth and sweat and grime and the blood of those unfortunate enough to have crossed his path that day. That is my voice, he wished to say. That is my face, my hands, my mouth, my body. Give them back to me. They are mine, mine alone. Take them OFF._

_“Thief,” the one with the crimson eyes sang, bitter and broken, “You’ve had everything you could have ever wanted ever since you were born, and yet you still want more. You ask, and you get, and you steal, and you still think the world is yours. Everything belongs to you. Even what you hate has to be yours.”_

_The sarcasm was acid, anything he might have said would have tasted as equally toxic and diminishing. The only reason Katsuya was there bothering him was because he now possessed the ultimate guarantee which prevented Jono from laying one finger on him._

_People used to call him the rotten sibling. Today, Katsuya had proven to be far more deserving of that title than he could ever dream of._

_He closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms to his swollen eyelids. “Of course I’m not mad, Katsu-chan” he clarified, his manner so tranquil it didn’t quite feel like his own, because internally he resembled an all consuming black hole. A black hole that demanded to know the reason why._

_Why?_

_He wore a grin that expanded from ear to ear. “I’m not mad at you, silly. I just wish you were dead,”_

_)_

“Please,” Seto Kaiba said, bruised in places Jono could never reach, “Please, help me.” Shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was asking for, couldn’t conceive that he was actually asking, but was too hurt to do anything other than beg and cry. “You have to help me-Please-Please, I don’t know what-what-“, he pulled at his roots, his front teeth leaving indents on his bottom lip. Wild need clothed his tearful demands.

A loud splashing noise was heard as Jono delved inside the water in a hurry, mentally cursing at the cold that gripped his legs. The instant he glimpsed the tears, he was done for. There was nothing he could do, asides from moving forwards, awkwardly advancing through the frigid lake until the gap between him and Seto was bridged.

His breath manifested in clouds of vapor, he wanted to get somewhere warm as soon as possible, he wanted to jump face down in his bed and not wake up for a week, he wanted to eat hot ramen and sit down in front of his TV with his feet kicked up on the table in front of his couch. But what he _needed,_ which was far more important than what he wanted, was to make those tears go away, “What do you need help with?” If the scum he used to hang out with could see him or hear him now, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him.

 Seto’s arms were folded around his chest, clenching the material of his trench coat with too much force, and the desire to softly soothe those grasping fingers until their iron hold loosened and the blood accumulated in his stress was allowed to flow free itched on Jono’s consciousness. He was immensely thankful for their isolation; no one had the right to witness the moment in which all his firmly built walls crashed down to the bottom of the lake, one after the other.

“Please, Seto, tell me what is it-“ Then, interrupting him mid-sentence, Seto’s digits abruptly closed around Jono’s bicep, cutting his blood circulation in the area. Jono had to muffle a pained whine, swallowing it back down, and storing it next to his uncried tears.

“I can’t lose it, Jono. I just can’t. It’s too important to lose- in the water. I can’t find it!” The man shouted sorrowfully, crazed orbs drawn in red and shadowed with unrest.

It was like something was malfunctioning within him, rendering him unable to form coherent full sentences. Jono understood to some extent what he was going through; his repressed emotions refused to be contained any longer, and the onslaught of sensations and feelings he didn’t allow himself to, well, _feel_ under any circumstance, were finally taking their toll on Seto’s psyche, every one of them vying for his undivided attention.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you find it,” he assured his friend, despite not knowing what was the item he was supposed to be looking for in the first place. Desperation turned men into fools; he would have said he was a dancing pink hippo if that affirmation could have helped pacify Seto’s neurotic crisis.

He gave him a toothed mockery of a grin that lacked true feeling, but Seto didn’t seem to mind his fake cheerfulness too much. He instantly went back to searching for what he had lost, leaving Jono with no choice but to roll up the sleeves of his leather jacket and bury his hands in freezing liquid. Seeking for what was not his.

They didn’t say another word as they worked on what appeared to be a hopeless objective.

Seto was still crying. Jono could tell, he looked up every now and then to catch the image of teardrops creating ripples on the water’s surface. He was an unpronounced vow and a newborn’s heart at once, fragile and vulnerable as he had never been, as he had never seen him. He presented a convincing seasoned impression for the timeless bearing of his wounds, although he bordered on the verge of innocence too for the intense way in which he was experiencing them, pulsing anew, engraved as they were on his worn out dermis. Tomorrow, the blond promised, he would make things right again. He’d fix it, even if it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to do it, no matter what.

_(_

_“I’d kill him for you, y’know. You just need to holler and I’ll get the job done in a sec.”_

_“What an eagerness to put an end to your own flesh and blood.”_

_“You know how the saying goes: Sometimes blood is as thick as a feather.”_

_“Certainly, no normal person would dare make such an outrageous offer.”_

_“ ‘Outrageous’, he says with his pretentious fucking being. Look, I’ve always hated the bitch, you know that. It’s not like it makes any difference to me. I was never **not** going to kill him. Him fucking up with you just gives me a more convenient excuse to do it.”_

_“….”_

_“…”_

_“I am sorry, Jono, for what it’s worth.”_

_“Yeah, whatever.”_

_“You know I never meant for this to happen, and I truly regret not telling you sooner. I know more than anyone how much you abhor him, and I still went behind your back-“_

_“Oh, is that remorse I’m hearing from the Great and Mighty Kaiba? Is that what’s happening, am I dreaming yet?”_

_“I understand the reasons why you are angry-“_

_“But do you really? I mean, he has always-he is the one that people like, okay. I understand that. But I thought…, I imagined that you of all people would…”_

_“You haven’t lost me, Jono, if that is what you are thinking. You will always have me.”_

_“Is that so.”_

_“All I am asking is…Don’t hate me, Jono… I couldn’t bear it if you hated me.”_

_“…”_

_“You are my best friend…. My only friend, actually. No one knows me better than you do. To lose you would be-the end of me.”_

_“….”_

_“Say something!”_

_“For being a self-proclaimed genius and all, you are pretty fucking clueless, aren’t cha? Look, would I be here threatening to murder my brother if I hated you? Am I that masochistic?”_

_“Jono…”_

_“I could never hate you, Ryuu-chan. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. And honestly, I’m more mad at him than I am at you, because… because I wasn’t that surprised. About you… You said so yourself-You’re my best friend. I’ve always known. I probably figured out your feelings before you knew you had them.”_

_“You give yourself too much credit, but… I’m glad I haven’t driven you out of my life with this.”_

_“As if- after all the effort we’ve put into meddling in each other’s lives, it would be a waste to end things just because of a minor setback.”_

_“I agree.”_

_“What, no insulting comeback?”_

_“Not today. I’m feeling generous, given that today’s events developed exactly the way I expected they would.”_

_“Hmph. Jerk.”_

_“Jono…Thank you for the offer. I appreciate the sentiment.”_

_“…You’re welcome, I guess.”_

_)_

Twenty minutes in the search for the lost object, Jono started to feel a persistent ache on his lower back. He chose not to say anything; he didn’t want to burden Seto with his problems when his plate was already too full, and the exhaustion he refused to show was painted in the mechanical air to his motions. Nevertheless, he took breaks to keep the stabs of pain from spreading to other parts of his body.

When forty minutes had passed, with no warning whatsoever, the sky decided to release itself by sending a downpour, and as swift as turning the tab on a sink, they were hit with stream after stream of icy rain. It drilled on their heads and exposed skin, like numerous needles cascading from above. Jono let out a string of expletives, briefly directing his eyes to Seto, who withstood the weather’s assault as if his five senses had perished somewhere between the last twelve hours, prior to submerging his numbed hands deeper, probing the ground with obvious irritation.

Perhaps an unknown force of the universe chose to take mercy on his soul at that point, witnessing the pair’s struggles, because all of a sudden, his fingers touched the outline of what he perceived to be an accessory of some sort, resting at the bottom. He grasped it with one hand and used the other to push back soaked strands of hair to clear his sight, choosing not to say anything yet in case it wasn’t what Seto was looking for. He reminded himself not to get his hopes up too high.

His doubts dissipated once he pulled it out of the water, observing, hurt and stricken, the necklace twined around his hand, made of rustproof steel, a silver half moon in close embrace with a golden sun dangling from its center. Jono recognized it, like a grown man would recall, whenever looking inside his closet, the monsters he created in its confines as a product of a childhood’s untamed imagination. His fingers closed, clenching the forsaken gift with impotence, born from his inability to have spared his friend from the pain, half-way regretting not having ridden the entire way to the house of the main cause of all this suffering to make him regret the day their mother conceived them, and understanding painfully near to his core that this must have been how an unfulfilled life, knitted together using what-ifs and should-haves, was formed: with the destruction of two hearts on the same night.

Red eyes stared up at the lonely figure Seto made, juxtaposed to the background of total obscurity enclosing him, he thought of the day’s events, the loneliness he must have felt, the despair he wasn’t meant to display in front of an audience, the restraint he employed, the humiliation he was subjected to, and he proceeded to draw the composition of Seto’s face, humbled, with the proper reverence the act required; this was the face of the strongest man alive. This was a face that didn’t yield when it should, that held on when it ought to let go. And Jono recreated it, with his mind’s eye, trying to gain from it strength he did not possess.

 “I’m sorry,” he cried out, forcing Seto to look at him through layers of plastered hair. The rain didn’t blind Jono from the minimal shifts Seto’s expression took, he caught blue gems melting when they fixated on the necklace the businessman had bought two years ago as an anniversary present, his nose exhaling as though the task was too heavy a burden, he caught the intake of breath and the choked sob that was swallowed by the tumultuous sky. “I’m so sorry.”

The elder Kaiba snatched the necklace from his hand and, shaking from head to toe, he hid it between his palms, which he pressed to his constricted breast; and his head bowed as if he couldn’t stand the visible rawness of his emotions, his shoulders convulsing along with his tall frame. “You were not there!” Jono flinched. All that could be seen was the feral line of teeth that appeared to do the man’s vocal chords’ bidding. “You abandoned me.”

“I was selfish,” Jono exclaimed, honesty flushed out of him like the rainfall accosting them, like the tears that had been running from him, inevitably, since he found the necklace, “And I’m sorry. I failed you. I know I have.” He stepped closer and squeezed his friend’s shoulders, his fingers trembling in relief at the familiar, welcoming contact, “But I’m here now, right? Late, but right goddamn here. At your side. Nowhere else.”

That was the breaking point, the last thing Seto needed to hear so he could permit his final shreds of pride to crash and burn. He broke down hard, sobbing for the whole world to listen, his howls of indescribable agony tearing into Jono’s ears, tearing at heartstrings, as he cried beyond recognition, cried like a child who was robbed from his innocence with the loss of his parents, who was thrown into the mindsets and planes of adults with no explanations, obliged to bear the weight of duties he was not supposed to have, forced to forget his human qualities in a harmful, never-ending search for the power he had lost.

Jono gave up. The blond ensnared that quivering form in his arms, crushing him, nearly suffocating as he squashed his nose and cheek to the palpitating vein on Seto’s neck, absorbing the smell of rain overshadowed mildly by expensive perfume and sweat and a natural scent of cinnamon, and feeling the other’s thunderous heart beat throughout his own anatomy, feeling Seto himself reciprocate the act, accommodating the weight of Jono’s head on his shoulder, gasps and sobs muffled on Jono’s hair, supplied with heated murmurings of his name igniting on wild fire the curve of his ear, was enough for Jono’s barriers to crumble as well, and his laments fused with the drops of rain nestled on the brunet’s collarbones, his lips whispered feverish promises of murder he wasn’t sure Seto could hear. His palms molded to the shape of the taller man’s shoulder blades, holding on impossibly tighter, impossibly closer, pushing on until the physical limits refused their bodies to merge any further.

Jono could have stayed like that, for the rest of eternity, clutching Seto to him, their sorrows inseparable from one another, their cries getting confused with the sound of falling rain. There was something beautiful in the act of licking each other’s wounds, something to be admired in how they functioned as the other’s exception; Kaibas weren’t trustful creatures by nature, they were taught to bite first rather than wait for the other shoe to drop, avoided intimacies as much as they could, and Jono was not a sentimental being either, understanding from very early on in his life that his reality differed vastly from the world’s common conceptions of family, friendship, and happiness, and yet, there they were: wary, beaten down, exhausted boys finding solace in each other, when they didn’t dare to imagine that such a soft, gentle notion as finding refuge somewhere external to them could ever exist in their lives.

This was their secret, the humanity they only exposed between the two of them and no one else. The tears that dried on Jono’s leather jacket. The careful hold given by calloused hands. The scars on Seto’s ribs, he felt them when his comforting touch moved beneath layers. The bruises on his neck that the brunet brushed with hesitant tenderness. The wordless connection through which they knew what the other was thinking. The synchronization of their breaths. The sweet desolation that followed the acceptance of the chain of events that led to this outcome, where Jono was able to hold him as he bled from within.

_(_

_Bodies were littered on the ground, spread evenly and forming a halo around him. Violence was in every inhalation he took. Jono smiled, kicking dirt in the face of one of his attackers. He remembered them. He had won a bet against them last week. Resentful bastards- should have known better than attempt to mess with Jono Jounouchi. He winced a little at the reminder of his last name and decided to keep admiring his handiwork instead of getting stuck in the same old diatribe._

_Too busy deriving a sick pleasure from his enemies’ defeat, he failed to notice the expensive limousine parking on his side of the street._

_“So it is true. Mutts hardly know anything different to picking fights and being a public menace, not to mention an overall annoyance.” A smug baritone said from behind him, startling him from the victory rant going on inside his head._

_Jono turned around quickly, his bloodlust newly activated, to see another teenager, perhaps close to his age, standing unbearably prim and proper in a navy blue uniform, buttoned all the way up to his chin, not a wrinkle or imperfection in place. The kid literally smelled of entitlement and opulence, and Jono hissed in disgust, knowing he was meant to hate his type, was born to carry this fiery hatred, because guys like this represented everything he despised about society as a whole._

_He didn’t need introductions, just from looking at him, without having met him, he knew that he had to be Katsuya’s infamous Kaiba. The rich bastard that defied everything the gang of nerds stood for, that shat in the holy name of friendship and hated everyone equally. And as much as he valued that somebody else was making his brother’s life a living hell, there was something about this dude in particular that made his blood boil just as much as his brother’s dumb face._

_As he was about to throw a greeting insult his way, he saw his opponent’s narrowed death glare shifting stances as he walked closer to Jono, changing from mocking to analytical. This observation caused Jono to realize that this guy had really, really blue eyes. The deep kind of blue. Which was a dumb thought to have when you were considering beating the owner of those eyes to a pulp._

_Those blues did a swift register of Jono himself, whose fists shook in anger at being scanned in such a manner. “Oh, my mistake. You must be the Mutt’s older brother.” Seto Kaiba pointed out, tone lacking the previous smugness._

_“Yeah, what gave that out, genius?” he answered sarcastically, showing none of the shock he felt inside. No one had set him apart from his brother that fast. It usually took a lot more than a careful examination, especially on a first meeting. His chest fluttered slightly and he had to concentrate on the throbbing in his hands to distract his mind from the strange sensation._

_The brunet said nothing to that, at first. Uneasiness started to grow in the ex-gang member._

_Then, Seto Kaiba uttered the most unexpected choice of words in the history of mankind._

_“You have beautiful eyes.” He deadpanned. Serious, as if he was stating a topic as innocuous as the weather._

_What._

_“What?”_

_Jono squeaked, heat blooming on his skin like an allergic reaction. His chest did more than flutter. Where the fuck had that come from? Oh Christ, he was probably covered in red blotches, assimilating the looks of a lobster, and his heart was beating insanely, the drum-like beat was driving him out of his mind, and what the hell was wrong with this guy, saying shameful things like that so-so….And how was Jono feeling? Was he angry? Was he mad? What was wrong with him too?!_

_His cheeks were nearly close to decaying from the embarrassment pooling there, and Kaiba stepped forwards, every inch of that perfect self and perfectly styled hair and aesthetically pleasing features occupying Jono’s vision, which made him shake with feelings that were not entirely synthesized in anger. He was suddenly incredibly self-conscious, thinking of the bird’s nest his hair was, his torn knuckles, his filthy, hand me down clothes, and the sweat streaked across his nose, on his hairline, his armpits. He blushed deeper. Was this a new tactic for getting people off their game? Because if it was, it had worked on him like a charm._

_He was deprived even from his self-deprecation time for falling for a silly sentence; before he could process it, Kaiba was all up in his face, searching blues digging profoundly into him and, “Red is a beautiful color. Your eyes-“ The young businessman lips ceased speaking (not that Jono was looking at his lips, he wasn’t, he just paid attention to details), blue orbs displaying all manner of intensities that had Jono reaching for air, and they stared at each other, confusion fixed firmly onto their expressions while they internalized exactly how awkward they were behaving, and Kaiba understood too how his statements could be interpreted out of context, and were his cheeks reddening?_

_“Ummm,” Jono said in a clear sign of intelligence. Kaiba was so close he could see a path of light freckles beneath the boy’s eyelids._

_After that, Kaiba seemed to come back to life. Closing his eyes shut, hiding those windows from Jono’s entranced state, he stepped out of Jono’s personal space, not uttering another sentence, and headed straight for the school’s entrance. Most likely that had been his intended goal before he had spotted Jono whom he had confused with Katsuya. Hell, Jono had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing there, loitering close by his brother’s school grounds to start with. His ears hadn’t stopped burning. He knelt in the asphalt, covering his flaming face with both his scratched palms, and wondered how the other boy could even think Jono’s eyes were beautiful when he had eyes that made all other shades of blue pale in comparison._

_)_

They returned to Kaiba Mansion much later. By then, the rain had finished projecting their mood, and their pain had been left behind, swirling in the lake with all their regrets and sufferings. They stepped into the foyer, kicking their shoes off, dripping water as they went.

With far better lighting than the occasional flash of lightning and with his mind less preoccupied thanks to visceral feelings, Jono seized the sight of the dark blemish partially hidden by Seto’s hair. He rested restless fingers on top of it, not wanting to push too hard and cause harm.

“He hit you.”

“I was a bastard.”

“And I don’t care. That’s not an excuse, no matter what the geek squad might say.” He took hold of Seto’s wrist with the intention of dragging him to the kitchen, whether he wanted to or not. A frenzied pulse was his response. “One would think that after living with a father like ours, he ought to know better than that.”

“Jono…” Seto sighed as he was forced to sit on a chair by the kitchen’s island. Jono ignored him, focusing solely on getting the first-aid kit so he wouldn’t have to think about people that deserved to die right that instant.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Seto mentioned out of the blue, after a prolonged period of silence. Jono listened, grunting, frustrated immensely at a cabinet that wouldn’t fucking open.

“Of course I do. I was standing outside your high school-can’t recall why. I had just beaten the shit out of some dorks when you showed up on your high horse. Was ready to kick your ass too, before you suddenly began talking nonsense.” He looked over his shoulder, a teasing grin substituting the downturn of his lips. Seto was staring intently at his hands interlaced on the marble countertop. Jono also remembered a time when Seto wasn’t able to look him straight in the eye when they conversed, too scared of him deciphering his vulnerabilities, too paranoid to fully drop his guard down. Just like him, really.

Seto snorted. “Nonsense? I said your eyes were beautiful,” And now he had Jono’s every sense tuning in to what he was saying. “You looked at me as if I had raped a corpse in front of you or something similar, despite you being the one surrounded by passed out thugs. Your face was so red I thought you were going into cardiac arrest.”

Seto’s smiles were this rare thing, this weird mix of threat and shy enjoyment that Jono considered more precious than other kinds of smiles for their uniqueness. Seeing him smile at that moment ached, “The funniest part of that entire event, I think, was that, somehow, I didn’t truly discern the oddity in my behavior until it was too late and we were both too uncomfortable to act normally. I can’t explain the lack of common sense and logic that plagued me that day.”

“You’d say you weren’t yourself?”

“No,” he shook his head, his mind already made up, “I’d say I was more of my ‘self that day, than I have ever allowed myself to be.” His smile appeared to pain him more than the ache Jono felt in his heart.

“Why?”

Seto shrugged, looked at Jono again, wide blues empty and sated at the same time, and recited a lamentation imbued with a passion as red as a rose covered in thorns, “* _How often do I lull my seething blood to rest, for you have never seen anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as this heart._ ” The way he spoke, tired, dragging syllables, coating them in tones of reprised regret. Defeated, remorseful of every choice he had made that drove him to this moment, this moment that failed to connect two miserable life experiences into one, because the moments in between had been wasted.

Jono held on to the handle of a cabinet, caressed by the unknown, alarmed by the spark of identification inside him that linked him to words he didn’t know the real meaning of, didn’t know where they originated from. I’m terrified of you, he would have told his friend once, oppressed by his endless knowledge, the abstract concepts he constantly lived trapped in, and the inexplicable phenomena the brunet awoke in him when he burned thoughts and ideas into him that Jono had dwelled on before but had not known how to verbalize them. In the present, he merely tried to materialize what Seto meant with that quote (why he felt like sobbing when he didn’t understand one thing about it).

“Things were much simpler those days.” Seto added, a melancholy shadowed his piercing irises, like blood floating down a stream, morphing the water’s properties, and Jono reminded himself that he hadn’t found the stupid first-aid kit yet. Clearing his throat, he settled for grabbing a small towel near the oven, then opened the fridge and grabbed a pack of ice. He made a compress with them, and gave it to Seto, ordering him to hold the towel and the pack of ice to his bruised cheek. The poignant stare Seto had pinned him with hadn’t left him alone.

Jono was not  and would never (not in this lifetime) be ready for what his friend said next, “He was the one who decided to end it. Katsuya did.” The brunet began, the purple eye bags glaring accusingly at Jono, whose world dissolved in a matter of seconds, the same amount of seconds it took his friend to disarm me, and he knew with the utmost clarity that he wasn’t okay. Felt like Seto had shoved a knife down his throat, and even that might have hurt less tthan the sharp perforations he was experiencing, “We had been fighting a lot, these past few months. Him and I. Everyone knew that. We’ve always fought. That is…was our routine. However, lately… lately it just seemed like… You know me, Jono. You know how I am.  I didn’t…” He took a deep breath. The blond trembled, watching his life pass by him outside of his comfort zone, and walked around the isle to sit on the chair by his side, his teeth clashing ferociously, his hands itching to do something. Anything, ranging from throttling to appeasing, “I didn’t want to push him, not the way I did. But that is how I function, isn’t it? I never mean half the things I do, but I do them anyway because that is how I am wired. I can’t change… and although I love him, I love him, Jono,” The businessman muttered, and although the heart-wrenching vulnerability he had shown in the park was almost gone, Jono’s entrails still twisted, still wreaked havoc inside, as if Seto had stabbed him through the stomach repeatedly, “I’m still insecure, jealous, I’m constantly stressed, needing to prove myself at every turn and… I admit I took my frustrations out on him. Today was supposed to be our anniversary, goddamit! I took him to-to that place to have a good time and-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Jono shouted, cutting him off; his feelings were as crude meat, blossoming too close to skin, “It doesn’t fucking matter! Because if he loves you too, Seto Kaiba, then he should have understood. Out of everyone in the world, he was supposed to be the one to know you the best. To sacrifice for you just as much as you have for him. And it’s not like he’s a walk on roses either. He can be a petty piece of shit too. I mean, he threw the fucking necklace as if it was nothing-What gives him the right to do that? To destroy you in front of everyone? To. Hurt. You?“

His hands clenched tightly, nails breaking flesh. His breathing accelerated, he could only marvel at his friend, a million of confessions unsaid hanging in the tangible space between them. Seto looked at him with a glint so open and pained and vivid, it couldn’t have possibly aspired to be described with the human tongue.

“Why are you still here?” He questioned. The ‘with me’ was left unsaid. His eyes were things children sung about, lyrics telling of monsters and nightmares and evil creatures creeping inside their rooms, aiming to steal them from their warm beds in the middle of the night.

Out of the three Jounouchi siblings, Jono had always been the one with a sweet tooth for horror.

Jono’s hand settled gently over the one Seto held to his cheek. And he beamed, the sun captured in his gaze, answering: “Because I’m stupid, obviously.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (*) The quote used here is from The Sorrows of Young Werther. 
> 
> A/N: Thank you so much for reading :D Please, don't forget to leave a comment. Feedback is one of the things I appreciate most and I'd really like to know what your thoughts and feelings on this piece are. Also, if you have any questions about this AU, feel free to ask, I won't bite :)
> 
> And finally, this fic was inspired by two different dramas that sort of have the same storyline because they are adaptations of a manga... Do try and guess which ones I'm referring to~ I'll give you two hints: the title and a the lake segment. It's really easy to guess, and yes, I'm aware I'm extremely cheesy, thank you very much.


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